


The Phnom Penh Job

by beanarie



Series: It Starts With an Earthquake [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a job so much as it is the stealing of a baby. But it's Eames's baby. And then, it's Arthur's baby, too. So it's okay, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phnom Penh Job

**Author's Note:**

> This was enabled and alpha-read and essentially half-written by [gollumgollum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gollumgollum/pseuds/gollumgollum). That was pretty close to 800 million years ago, but there were just a couple of fiddly bits that refused to get written. I finally tackled them, thanks to the encouragement of [jacobella41](http://jacobella41.livejournal.com/).

"How quickly can you get to Phnom Penh?"

Eames asked this over the phone, his voice strangely urgent, not even bothering to hide an edge of desperation and, despite their "relationship" having only a few more ups than downs, despite the lunch plans Arthur had to court a client at that very moment, he said, "Thirty-six hours." 

Now he finds himself staring at a stark little building with a sad little plastic playground out back. This is not a hotel. This is not a home. It's an orphanage.

"Eames," Arthur says. " _Eames_."

Eames wraps his fingers around the handle of the passenger side door. "Cut the engine," he says. "For Godsake."

Arthur grabs at Eames's sleeve, but the other man is too quick. "What the hell kind of job is this?" he asks through his teeth.

Eames ignores him. "Stay close for now," he says instead, and as they step away from the car, he tells Arthur the general location of each staff member in the building. Arthur realizes that Eames brought in a partner because he didn't want any of these people to get hurt tonight.

About an hour before sunrise, they are back in the city, with a basket on the hotel bed holding a five or six month old baby girl. She stirs, flashing wide eyes a familiar shade of greenish-blue. Even if not for that, the way that Eames has been trying not to stare at her all this time and failing, that would have clinched it. 

Arthur makes a noise. He can't think of what words to use to convey exactly what he's feeling, but he has to break the silence somehow.

Eames presses his lips together in acknowledgement. "The, uh, 'benefits' of a homosexual relationship are somewhat diminished when one fails to make said relationship monogamous. Sorry."

"Sorry," Arthur parrots. "Eames, do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"I'll find something for her. Obviously." He rearranges the folds of blanket around her little body. "Christ, Arthur," he says, quietly intense. "You expected me to leave her in that place?"

Arthur puts as much sarcasm into his blink as is humanly possible. Yes, because he thinks Eames is a _monster_. Really.

She is a beautiful little thing, round enough despite where they took her from, with medium brown skin and tight swirls of black hair. "She's not Cambodian," he says, and if it sounds like a non-sequitur, he doesn't care. He can't keep asking Eames if he lost all goddamn reason.

"The mother was American," Eames confesses. "Louise Gray. She was an aide worker bouncing between crises." 

An aide worker. Arthur snorts. "Never thought you'd go through a do-gooder phase."

"Hardly a phase. We never saw each other for more than a few days at a time. The last visit was less than an hour." He looks skyward. "Much less than that, actually. Five minutes would be more accurate."

"That was when she told you," Arthur surmises.

Eames nods. "We didn't fight. After saying what she'd come to say, she simply left," he says. "I assumed she returned home. Some weeks ago, I put out tentative inquiries to her family in Washington. She probably didn't want my money, but I know she could have used it. You know how pride loses power as a motivating factor when there's someone else who may be impacted." He rocks the basket when the baby starts to fuss. "I discovered that she came to this country for a public health-related project. Immunizations, I think. She died of an infection after the birth."

"Why didn't her family take the baby?"

"Her circumstances wouldn't have improved overmuch if they had, to be honest," Eames says, and Arthur lets him leave it at that.

Of course they can't leave the baby in the basket for however long it takes Eames to find her a suitable family. Arthur barely reacts when he comes back to the room bearing breakfast and Eames is holding her.

Her chubby fists encircling his fingers, Eames holds her up, allowing her to do the little baby version of standing. "Strong girl," he rumbles. He hasn't once complained. Not about changing her diapers, not about waking up in the middle of the night to give her a bottle. 

Arthur reminds himself that it isn't all that shocking to see Eames engaging with the baby. If nothing else, Eames is a narcissist. Being able to see his own eyes glowing out of that package of adorable can be nothing short of irresistible. 

Like on any other job, Arthur does his part. Pitching in for every other feeding and every third diaper change, speaking to her in the smattering of Khmer he made sure to learn before arriving in the country. 

Eames calls a lawyer, and then he takes the baby for a walk. The next day he calls two, and then he watches her do the commando crawl on the floor for nearly an hour. On the third day, they take a bus to Ho Chi Minh City, where everyone essentially passes out, worn to ragged edges by the journey. Their second day in Vietnam, Arthur asks Eames about his progress.

Eames picks at the carpet. "I don't know," he says.

"What don't you know, Eames?"

"I haven't enjoyed these attempts at conversation. Those people..." He leans over to where she lies on her back and listlessly gives her his finger to chomp on. "My- she's not a commodity."

It is decidedly odd, hearing those words from a man who sold him out on at least one occasion. "What are you, maturing?" Eames huffs out a weary laugh, making Arthur smile in spite of himself. "What's going on here?" 

Eames shrugs his shoulders with a sigh that seemed to last forever. He looks pathetic, confused and sleep-deprived. Arthur has never seen the man so thoroughly stripped of pretense. It is bizarrely endearing. He grabs Eames's chin. "And what's this?" he asks, running his thumb over Eames's smooth jaw-line. "You probably haven't shaved this often since basic training."

Eames looks away, nodding at the baby. "I found a slight rash on her face the other day. Think it was-"

"Beard-burn," Arthur finishes, feeling light-headed. "Right. Listen, we need groceries. I'll take her. You... take a nap. Read the paper. Grab a coffee. _Something_. Clear your head. You need to make a decision. Makes no difference to me what the outcome is, but you can't keep sitting on the fence like this." 

:::

It is entirely Eames's fault that Arthur and baby are cornered in an alley by a bunch of French teenagers. Arthur's thoughts had been with Eames and his weird conflict instead of on his surroundings.

As Arthur hands over his wallet and his fake passport, he hears Eames's voice saying, _Pride loses power as a motivating factor when there's someone else who may be impacted._ He isn't losing anything he can't replace.

Then the punks speak among themselves, and the leader turns around to say that they'll take the baby, too. All Arthur can think about is yesterday evening, how she sneezed and made herself laugh, and his arms tighten around her. 

If anyone touches this little girl, he will flay them the fuck alive.

:::

Arthur gets a few stares as he trudges back, the baby in his arms, tears in his clothing, and a smear of blood on his forehead. He ignores them all. The only thing that matters is finding their door and closing it behind them.

"Arthur?" Eames is looking at him strangely. He stops Arthur in place with a hand on his arm. "Let's put her down, yeah? Just for a short while. Don't want her getting touch-spoiled."

"No, it's fine. It's fine," Arthur mutters, sitting on the couch, loosening his hold slightly as her weight settles in his lap. The thought of letting her go causes a twinge in his chest. 

"Hey," Eames says gently, like he's talking down a skittish horse. "Arthur."

"What am I doing here?" Arthur whispers, helpless. 

Eames's eyes are tender, offering something Arthur hadn't known he could ever take. He'd been tasked with making a decision, and it looks like he did, or maybe Arthur made it for him. He presses a kiss to the corner of Arthur's mouth. "You can't even hazard a guess," he says, half in question. 

:::

Arthur stumbles into the kitchen, panicked from waking up alone, his arms empty.

"Morning," Eames says from the sink, a smile in his voice that Arthur can't see. Along with a splash of water, the baby lets out a happy yelp.

Arthur drifts over to them, almost without thinking. He watches Eames take one soapy finger and leave some suds on the baby's nose, much to her befuddlement.

"Eames," Arthur says. "What's her name?"

"The orphanage gave her something, but it was crap. Essentially the Cambodian version of Jane Doe."

"So what's her name?"

"Cleopatra."

It could be said that the moment is destroyed by Arthur's indelicate snort, but if asked Arthur would blame Eames for causing it. 

"You doubt that she can pull it off? _My_ daughter?"

"You are an asshole," Arthur announces. "Katherine, then. If you want to go regal."

Eames furrows his brow. "We don't have to go as fucking boring as that, do we?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, long-suffering. "We'll figure something out."

Eames wraps her in a towel and places her back in the basket. Three seconds after that, he has Arthur pinned against the wall with a kiss. "You didn't sign on for this," he says, his voice rough. To Arthur's ears, it sounds like sorry and I love you and don't leave.

"You say that like it's news to me," Arthur says, and he kisses him back.

**Author's Note:**

> No offense intended regarding the parts in Cambodia. I tried to show that the issues are tied to the orphanage being in a poor rural area, and not to characterize the entire country that way. Also sorry to any Katherines. Eames is a prick. I don't share his opinions.


End file.
